Thanksgiving in Spain was definitely something very different than the holiday in the States. I wasn’t really expecting anything spectacular, but this year, I came away with some really wonderful stories from the Thanksgiving season.
It all started a few weeks ago when I was making my PowerPoint presentation (I know, I know…I decided not to do a Prezi because of the stupid, old computers at my school…they don’t like Prezis…) about Thanksgiving. I made the show, complete with descriptions of food, the parade, football, Black Friday, the Indians (excuse me, “First People”), the Pilgrims…it was a pretty great presentation, if I do say so myself. But, I had some trouble figuring out what activity to do with the kids after I talked. I had already done a crossword for Halloween and a quiz/wordsearch for Guy Fawkes’ Day (don’t even get me started on why I had to present on this “holiday”), so I was at a loss for Thanksgiving. After searching endlessly online and coming up with nothing, I had a stroke of creativity and ended up making a printout of a turkey on one side of a paper, and a blank template for a letter on the other side. The kids would have to write in all of the feathers what they were thankful for (family, friends…chocolate, Justin Bieber…whatever). Then, on the other side, they would write a letter to one of those things/people saying why they were thankful for it/them. Quite an inspired idea, I thought.
So the first group I gave the presentation to was 1st bachillerato (16-17 years old). The talk went great, and then at the end, I showed some videos. The first was a montage of clips from a Black Friday at a Target in Utah at 4.00am (prefaced with “Not all Americans are like this…”). It showed people screaming, shoving, running amuck, and just general Black Friday mayhem. The second video was Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade clips. Then the third was what the class really had fun with. It was the Radio City Rockettes performing at the Macy’s Parade in 2010. In that particular year, the Rockettes were feeling especially homologous. The first (and I would even venture to say, the only) thing that these students picked up on was that there was only one African American Rockette. By the end of the number, they had all decided that there was indeed a second one as well, she was just a lot lighter in skin tone than the first. I don’t think they quite understood the point of the video…
Another class I gave the Thanksgiving presentation to was 2nd E.S.O (12-13 years old). I teach this class English on Mondays, then directly after English, I have music class with them. Because of this, they’ve gotten to know me a little better than the classes who only have me for one period a week. When I gave 2nd E.S.O the assignment to write down what they were thankful for, I walked around the room, seeing what everyone was writing. I was pleased to see that the majority of the class did not write that they were thankful for Tuenti (Spanish Facebook) like my 4th E.S.O kids did. But, as I was walking, I glanced at one boy’s paper (let’s call him Paco). Along with “my family,” “my friends, “ and “my spaghetti,” Paco had also written “Rachel.” I pointed to my name and said, “Paco! Thank you! That’s so nice!” and gave him a big smile. He blushed a little and didn’t say anything. Once the class moved on to writing their letters, I walked around some more. Each time I moved towards Paco, he would cover up his paper. Eventually I understood that he was writing his letter to me! Precious! I haven’t read it yet and while I’m a little scared to, I think it has great self-esteem boosting potential for me.
As far as the Thanksgiving Day, I had decided about a week before the Thursday that I needed to have a true Thanksgiving feast, so as not to be depressed and missing home. Since my apartment doesn’t have an oven, I asked my friend Josemi if in exchange for cooking, cleaning, and doing whatever else he asked, if I could use his kitchen (and oven) to host a Thanksgiving dinner for our Spanish friends. He graciously said “yes,” and I began to plan for the big dinner. I was determined to get as close to all of our traditional dishes as possible. I’ll make this part short (but don’t think that it was in any way), but over the week, I went into about 10 different stores, at least 20 times in order to get everything I needed. I found a turkey breast at a meat shop, dried cranberries at a store across town, celery (believe it or not, it’s rare here…my roommate had never seen it before) at a fruit and vegetable market, and eventually was pretty happy with my supplies.
On Thursday, I had to work at Zurbarán in the morning, then tutor in the afternoon. I had been prepping the food for a few days, letting home-cut bread cubes get stale on my counter, boiling and mashing fresh pumpkin (no canned variety here), and before I went over to Josemi’s house, I put the spice rub on the turkey that I had made. I trekked over to Josemi’s around 7.00pm with (not exaggerating) about 50 lbs. of food in three different (massive) bags. I definitely got my work out in that day. Once I unloaded everything, I got to work. I cooked straight for almost 3 hours. Everyone was so nice in offering to help, but I didn’t even really know what I was doing, so it was hard to try to direct people. So, besides some help with cutting vegetables, I can proudly say that I made the entire Thanksgiving feast by myself. We had told the rest of our friends that we would eat around 9.30pm, but this is Spain…so that obviously didn’t happen. Around 9.45, everything except the gravy was almost done. Since I had been cooking for so long, I felt gross. I ran home to shower while the turkey and everything else finished up. Feeling renewed and smelling much less like onion, I went back to Josemi’s, made the gravy, then we laid out all of the food. There were eight of us there and it really was like being with family. I’ve been so lucky with all of the friends I’ve made here and without them, my adjustment here would have definitely been a lot tougher.
Everyone made me say the “blessing” before we ate…but they insisted that I say it in English. Which is funny because only two of them know English really well, and only about half know any at all. After saying grace, we dug into the food. I was like a little Italian mother watching her kids eat and enjoy her meal. The turkey, stuffing, green bean casserole, gravy, and mashed potatoes were all new flavors to everyone at the table and tasted just like home to me. For dessert, I had made pumpkin pie (like I said, with fresh pumpkins). I was pretty doubtful to see how it would turn out (I didn’t have any measuring cups/spoons, so everything was eye-balled), but in the end, it was delicious.
All in all, Thanksgiving was a great success. About half of the group made it out to bars to enjoy the rest of the evening (everyone else was feeling the effects of tryptophan, I guess) and we had a really fun time.
If I couldn’t be in North Carolina with my family for Thanksgiving, this year’s “Fakesgiving” was definitely the next best thing!
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Walking with Trees
I feel like bizarre things happen to me multiple times a day, that I’ve just stopped realizing that certain situations just aren’t normal. I definitely have realized that I need to start writing down the funnier stories so that once I’m back in the States, I will finally be able to see how ridiculous my life could be here sometimes.
First of all, I bought a Christmas tree yesterday. Buying a Christmas tree here is not like going to Target and buying a lovely, pre-lit tree, or going to the local farm and cutting down your own. Instead, I went to the local Chino shop across the street from my school. When I went in, I found a bunch of artificial trees up front. I asked the little Asian lady which one was the cheapest tree and how much it would be (I JUST got paid for the first time in two months…but that’s another story). She told me the cheapest was 6 Euros, but when she went to show it to me, as luck would have it, they didn’t have any left. No problem. I asked her what the next cheapest was. She showed it to me, and while it wasn’t ideal, for 8 Euros, I could handle it. However, the model she showed me had no top section on it (aka where you put the star), so I asked if I could get a tree that had all of it’s parts. She said “no.” Apparently that was the only one of that kind of tree they had. So one more time, I asked for the third cheapest tree. The one she showed me was 12 Euros, but was pretty perfect. A little wobbly, but standing at about 3 feet tall, it definitely had Charlie Brown Christmas potential. I let her know that I wanted that tree, she set it aside, and I went to find some ornaments to decorate it with. After finding some, I went to the cash register to pay. After I gave the lady my money, she put the ornaments in a bag for me and then turned away. I said, “Perdón, but can I have a box for the tree?” (remember, this tree is all pre-assembled). She said “No, this tree comes sin caja.” Aka without a box. I stared at her and the tree for a few seconds then said, “Okay, um, well, gracias.” I picked up my bag of ornaments, my school messanger bag, and my new three-foot tall Christmas tree and started the 15 minute walk home through the center of town.
Living in Navalmoral, I’ve definitely gotten used to stares. The first few weeks here, I felt like an alien with my light hair and light eyes. Now, I don’t notice the looks so much. But, carrying a tree through the streets, I had flashbacks of those first few weeks. I didn’t really care what people thought of me, as I obviously was just being festive, getting ready for Christmas. Still, as I walked and met eyes with the on-lookers, I could only place myself in their shoes and think of my reaction if I saw me walking down the streets of this tiny town, already very different from the typical-looking person, carrying a huge plant across basically the whole town. I kept having to stifle laughs as I was walking…which I think only added to the glares I was getting.
In any case, I made it home eventually, pride not shaken in the least, and set up my tree. I’m so happy with the way it turned out and now, whenever I come home, seeing it makes me so happy. Being away from my family and American friends this holiday season is going to be hard. I’m already feeling it a lot with Thanksgiving being tomorrow. I think having little touches of home (ie: the tree) are really going to help. Also, I’m making a Thanksgiving dinner for my Spanish friends tomorrow. Stories from that will definitely come soon. But for now, I’m just thankful to have my Christmas tree safe and sound in my piso, for getting paid after two months of work (only in Spain), for everyone in Navalmoral who have been so incredible to me, for my wonderful family who I miss everyday, and for radiators and braceros (that without I would certainly be an ice cube in my apartment by now). Happy Thanksgiving!!!
First of all, I bought a Christmas tree yesterday. Buying a Christmas tree here is not like going to Target and buying a lovely, pre-lit tree, or going to the local farm and cutting down your own. Instead, I went to the local Chino shop across the street from my school. When I went in, I found a bunch of artificial trees up front. I asked the little Asian lady which one was the cheapest tree and how much it would be (I JUST got paid for the first time in two months…but that’s another story). She told me the cheapest was 6 Euros, but when she went to show it to me, as luck would have it, they didn’t have any left. No problem. I asked her what the next cheapest was. She showed it to me, and while it wasn’t ideal, for 8 Euros, I could handle it. However, the model she showed me had no top section on it (aka where you put the star), so I asked if I could get a tree that had all of it’s parts. She said “no.” Apparently that was the only one of that kind of tree they had. So one more time, I asked for the third cheapest tree. The one she showed me was 12 Euros, but was pretty perfect. A little wobbly, but standing at about 3 feet tall, it definitely had Charlie Brown Christmas potential. I let her know that I wanted that tree, she set it aside, and I went to find some ornaments to decorate it with. After finding some, I went to the cash register to pay. After I gave the lady my money, she put the ornaments in a bag for me and then turned away. I said, “Perdón, but can I have a box for the tree?” (remember, this tree is all pre-assembled). She said “No, this tree comes sin caja.” Aka without a box. I stared at her and the tree for a few seconds then said, “Okay, um, well, gracias.” I picked up my bag of ornaments, my school messanger bag, and my new three-foot tall Christmas tree and started the 15 minute walk home through the center of town.
Living in Navalmoral, I’ve definitely gotten used to stares. The first few weeks here, I felt like an alien with my light hair and light eyes. Now, I don’t notice the looks so much. But, carrying a tree through the streets, I had flashbacks of those first few weeks. I didn’t really care what people thought of me, as I obviously was just being festive, getting ready for Christmas. Still, as I walked and met eyes with the on-lookers, I could only place myself in their shoes and think of my reaction if I saw me walking down the streets of this tiny town, already very different from the typical-looking person, carrying a huge plant across basically the whole town. I kept having to stifle laughs as I was walking…which I think only added to the glares I was getting.
In any case, I made it home eventually, pride not shaken in the least, and set up my tree. I’m so happy with the way it turned out and now, whenever I come home, seeing it makes me so happy. Being away from my family and American friends this holiday season is going to be hard. I’m already feeling it a lot with Thanksgiving being tomorrow. I think having little touches of home (ie: the tree) are really going to help. Also, I’m making a Thanksgiving dinner for my Spanish friends tomorrow. Stories from that will definitely come soon. But for now, I’m just thankful to have my Christmas tree safe and sound in my piso, for getting paid after two months of work (only in Spain), for everyone in Navalmoral who have been so incredible to me, for my wonderful family who I miss everyday, and for radiators and braceros (that without I would certainly be an ice cube in my apartment by now). Happy Thanksgiving!!!
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Gypsies, Tramps, and Entertainers
Since coming to Navalmoral, I’ve had a few nights out that had been really spectacular. Some of them were going out at night during San Miguel (one of the two main festivals here) and another was the night a bunch of us went dancing, ate churros at 6am, and got home around 8am. But, I think my favorite night here so far was this past Sunday.
After Venice two weeks ago, I wanted to just relax this past weekend. Friday night I went out with some friends in plan tranquilo, getting home around 2am. Then Saturday, I relaxed a little too much. My roommate was out of town, so I spent all day in my pajamas and didn’t leave my apartment once. It was pretty depressing. Sunday looked like it was going to be the same thing.
Sunday, I hung around in sweatpants until early afternoon, then decided to seize the day and went for a walk. The weather was beautiful, so I put on some jeans and explored Navalmoral a bit, then went back home. After that, it was back to the sweatpants. Around 7.30pm, my roommate (who had gotten home earlier that day) texted me that she had seen one of our friends on the street, (César) and that he was going to the Cultural Center that night to see a play. He knows that I’m a theatre geek, so he asked her to see if I wanted to go. Having already eaten dinner, I was ready to sleep in a couple of hours, so I said, “No thanks…maybe next time.” I sat around for another half and hour and remembered that I had made a “Yes Man” pact to myself while in Spain. I texted César and told him I would come. I met him at theatre (jeans back on) around 8.30 and the play started.
The play was pretty bad. The acting. The sets. The costumes. I think it was about homosexuals during the golpe del estado in Spain in 1981…but I could be wrong. I didn’t understand about 90% of the show (Spanish language and the content). César tried his best to explain what was going on to me during the performance, but at one point I just gave up, resigned that my Spanish and history skills just weren’t up to par. After the show, César and another guy who was there said they were going to meet two other friends for a drink, and wanted to know if I wanted to come. At first, I was going to say that I was tired and maybe another time…then I remembered “Yes Man.” We went to the only Irish pub in Navalmoral (only because it has the name “St. James” and serves Guinness) and met up with the other people. We all got a drink and sat around chatting.
When I had entered the pub, there had been a few gypsy men (darker complexion, more from the south), lightly playing the guitar. It was very nice, but quiet. However, as the night went on, more and more gypsy men came into the pub and soon, a full on flamenco show was happening around me. It was the five of us and the gypsies. They were singing, dancing, clapping, playing the guitar, and “olé”ing. It was amazing. Nowhere in the United States would this happen. They weren’t there to give a performance. It was just a bunch of friends meeting up to hang out. We hung around, enjoying the show for a few hours, then headed home.
That night was one of those that really make me appreciate that I really live in Spain. I think too often I forget that many people never even have the opportunity to leave their hometown, and here I am, living in Spain, traveling to all different countries and getting to know new cultures. My love affair with Spain began in Valencia and was so strong right from the start and Sunday night only added to the fire.
After Venice two weeks ago, I wanted to just relax this past weekend. Friday night I went out with some friends in plan tranquilo, getting home around 2am. Then Saturday, I relaxed a little too much. My roommate was out of town, so I spent all day in my pajamas and didn’t leave my apartment once. It was pretty depressing. Sunday looked like it was going to be the same thing.
Sunday, I hung around in sweatpants until early afternoon, then decided to seize the day and went for a walk. The weather was beautiful, so I put on some jeans and explored Navalmoral a bit, then went back home. After that, it was back to the sweatpants. Around 7.30pm, my roommate (who had gotten home earlier that day) texted me that she had seen one of our friends on the street, (César) and that he was going to the Cultural Center that night to see a play. He knows that I’m a theatre geek, so he asked her to see if I wanted to go. Having already eaten dinner, I was ready to sleep in a couple of hours, so I said, “No thanks…maybe next time.” I sat around for another half and hour and remembered that I had made a “Yes Man” pact to myself while in Spain. I texted César and told him I would come. I met him at theatre (jeans back on) around 8.30 and the play started.
The play was pretty bad. The acting. The sets. The costumes. I think it was about homosexuals during the golpe del estado in Spain in 1981…but I could be wrong. I didn’t understand about 90% of the show (Spanish language and the content). César tried his best to explain what was going on to me during the performance, but at one point I just gave up, resigned that my Spanish and history skills just weren’t up to par. After the show, César and another guy who was there said they were going to meet two other friends for a drink, and wanted to know if I wanted to come. At first, I was going to say that I was tired and maybe another time…then I remembered “Yes Man.” We went to the only Irish pub in Navalmoral (only because it has the name “St. James” and serves Guinness) and met up with the other people. We all got a drink and sat around chatting.
When I had entered the pub, there had been a few gypsy men (darker complexion, more from the south), lightly playing the guitar. It was very nice, but quiet. However, as the night went on, more and more gypsy men came into the pub and soon, a full on flamenco show was happening around me. It was the five of us and the gypsies. They were singing, dancing, clapping, playing the guitar, and “olé”ing. It was amazing. Nowhere in the United States would this happen. They weren’t there to give a performance. It was just a bunch of friends meeting up to hang out. We hung around, enjoying the show for a few hours, then headed home.
That night was one of those that really make me appreciate that I really live in Spain. I think too often I forget that many people never even have the opportunity to leave their hometown, and here I am, living in Spain, traveling to all different countries and getting to know new cultures. My love affair with Spain began in Valencia and was so strong right from the start and Sunday night only added to the fire.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Venezia: Part II
Saturday morning, we woke up around 9.30am so we could get ready and be out before the 11.00am lock out. We tried (unsuccessfully) to find the café from the day before, settled on a place for lunch (pizza again, obviously), then started the long trek over to Piazza San Marco.
Once we were at the piazza, we went into Saint Mark’s Basilica. The place was truly beautiful. I took some pictures of it, but pictures can’t even come close to doing the place justice. After the basilica, we went to the Doge’s Palace right next door. The doge (duke) was the head of Venice government, before being demoted to a figurehead, but either way, had an incredible palace. The place was huge. There were living rooms, map rooms, art rooms, senate rooms, prisons, and an armory. The coolest part, though, was seeing Tintoretto’s “Il Paradiso.”
We then walked around for a while, went back to the hostel, hung out with the hostel guys (Dan, an Italian-Australian, chatted with us for a long time), and then got ready for the evening. We had decided to save some money and eat for 5 Euros at the hostel. We met a bunch of other fellow travelers over some pesto pasta, bruschetta, and some questionable chocolate cake. After that, the five of us went out for a very calm night out. We went to an Irish pub for a while, then back to the students’ area. But Italy is more like the US in terms of its schedule. We got to the bars around 1.30am, so things were clearing out. We sat down on a bench and just watched the craziness around us. We saw some bizarre things that night.
In the morning, we had to check out by 10am, but daylight savings had kicked in, giving us one extra hour of sleep. Once out of the hostel, we headed over to the coast to catch the vaporetto (like a ferry) to another island, Murano. Murano is known for its glass-blowing. We were able to see a guy blowing glass for a few minutes, and then walked around the island, going in and out of glass shops. It was all very pretty. We got lunch, and then went back to the main land with the intention of getting a gondola ride.
Earlier that day, we had to get from one side of a canal to another and there were no bridges close by. Venice has set up a public transportation of sorts with gondolas. For .50 Euro cents you can get a gondola ride for about 2 minutes across the canal. We had already done this, so when we found out that for a half-hour private gondola ride we would each have to pay 20 Euros plus tip, we decided that the gondola ride earlier that day counted and that we didn’t want to pay the money. Instead, we went shopping for masks and other souvenirs. For dinner that night, half of the group went to get Indian food, while myself and another girl were more in the mood for more Italian food, so we got, what else, more pizza.
Having already checked out of the hostel and not wanting to pay money for a third night, decided to spend the night in the Venice airport instead. We got our bags, hopped on the last airport shuttle of the night (after missing the one before that one), and got to the airport. When we walked up to the airport doors, they were locked. We went to every door in front of the airport and they were all locked. It was 1.00am, freezing outside, the bus had left, and we were stuck outside! We could see a couple of people inside, sleeping (I guess they had gotten there before the doors were locked) and tried getting their attention to see if they could help us. Some of the girls even suggested spending the night in the elevator for warmth (not happening). The people inside couldn’t help us, but I eventually flagged down a maintenance man/janitor on the inside and after running around a bit, he pried a door open for us, setting off an alarm in the whole airport…but we didn’t care…we had made it inside! We found a section of the airport to try to sleep in (try being the key word). It was freezing, so I layered up. I was wearing two pairs of socks, boots, leggings, jeans, two shirts, two sweaters, and gloves. On top of all of that, we had found some cardboard boxes and (must to the disgust of one girl in our group), used them to lie on. We even got a thumbs-up from a homeless man in the airport. New low in life? Maybe. Do I regret it? Nope.
Around 8.00am, the café opened and we got some coffee and breakfast for fuel. We got on our RyanAir flight around 10.00am, happy to be going back home. When we landed in Sevilla, the original plan had been to spend the night there and go home on Tuesday. But, myself and another girl, Mary-Ryan, were so exhausted and couldn’t deal with another night in a hostel and decided to leave that day. After a ton of confusion and stress about what bus or train I would take home, I finally found a way.
When I got home, I couldn’t have been happier. The trip to Venice had been amazing, but I just wanted a hot (clean) shower and to sleep in my own bed. Whenever I leave Navalmoral, I always realize just how much I’m growing to like it.
Once we were at the piazza, we went into Saint Mark’s Basilica. The place was truly beautiful. I took some pictures of it, but pictures can’t even come close to doing the place justice. After the basilica, we went to the Doge’s Palace right next door. The doge (duke) was the head of Venice government, before being demoted to a figurehead, but either way, had an incredible palace. The place was huge. There were living rooms, map rooms, art rooms, senate rooms, prisons, and an armory. The coolest part, though, was seeing Tintoretto’s “Il Paradiso.”
We then walked around for a while, went back to the hostel, hung out with the hostel guys (Dan, an Italian-Australian, chatted with us for a long time), and then got ready for the evening. We had decided to save some money and eat for 5 Euros at the hostel. We met a bunch of other fellow travelers over some pesto pasta, bruschetta, and some questionable chocolate cake. After that, the five of us went out for a very calm night out. We went to an Irish pub for a while, then back to the students’ area. But Italy is more like the US in terms of its schedule. We got to the bars around 1.30am, so things were clearing out. We sat down on a bench and just watched the craziness around us. We saw some bizarre things that night.
In the morning, we had to check out by 10am, but daylight savings had kicked in, giving us one extra hour of sleep. Once out of the hostel, we headed over to the coast to catch the vaporetto (like a ferry) to another island, Murano. Murano is known for its glass-blowing. We were able to see a guy blowing glass for a few minutes, and then walked around the island, going in and out of glass shops. It was all very pretty. We got lunch, and then went back to the main land with the intention of getting a gondola ride.
Earlier that day, we had to get from one side of a canal to another and there were no bridges close by. Venice has set up a public transportation of sorts with gondolas. For .50 Euro cents you can get a gondola ride for about 2 minutes across the canal. We had already done this, so when we found out that for a half-hour private gondola ride we would each have to pay 20 Euros plus tip, we decided that the gondola ride earlier that day counted and that we didn’t want to pay the money. Instead, we went shopping for masks and other souvenirs. For dinner that night, half of the group went to get Indian food, while myself and another girl were more in the mood for more Italian food, so we got, what else, more pizza.
Having already checked out of the hostel and not wanting to pay money for a third night, decided to spend the night in the Venice airport instead. We got our bags, hopped on the last airport shuttle of the night (after missing the one before that one), and got to the airport. When we walked up to the airport doors, they were locked. We went to every door in front of the airport and they were all locked. It was 1.00am, freezing outside, the bus had left, and we were stuck outside! We could see a couple of people inside, sleeping (I guess they had gotten there before the doors were locked) and tried getting their attention to see if they could help us. Some of the girls even suggested spending the night in the elevator for warmth (not happening). The people inside couldn’t help us, but I eventually flagged down a maintenance man/janitor on the inside and after running around a bit, he pried a door open for us, setting off an alarm in the whole airport…but we didn’t care…we had made it inside! We found a section of the airport to try to sleep in (try being the key word). It was freezing, so I layered up. I was wearing two pairs of socks, boots, leggings, jeans, two shirts, two sweaters, and gloves. On top of all of that, we had found some cardboard boxes and (must to the disgust of one girl in our group), used them to lie on. We even got a thumbs-up from a homeless man in the airport. New low in life? Maybe. Do I regret it? Nope.
Around 8.00am, the café opened and we got some coffee and breakfast for fuel. We got on our RyanAir flight around 10.00am, happy to be going back home. When we landed in Sevilla, the original plan had been to spend the night there and go home on Tuesday. But, myself and another girl, Mary-Ryan, were so exhausted and couldn’t deal with another night in a hostel and decided to leave that day. After a ton of confusion and stress about what bus or train I would take home, I finally found a way.
When I got home, I couldn’t have been happier. The trip to Venice had been amazing, but I just wanted a hot (clean) shower and to sleep in my own bed. Whenever I leave Navalmoral, I always realize just how much I’m growing to like it.
Venezia: Part I
So I realize I haven’t really been updating my blog lately…but I see that as a good thing. It means I’ve been so busy that I don’t have the time to sit around and type out my life. And I’d much rather be busy than bored here.
So last week I didn’t stop working. After the most fun weekend spent in Navalmoral so far (a friend’s birthday), I was tutoring and teaching all week. On Thursday, I went into the elementary school across the street from my apartment and gave four, 1-hour long presentations on Halloween to the kiddies. Four of the exact same presentations. I was exhausted after that, but still had to tutor, then head to Madrid so I could go to Venice very early Friday morning!
So begins the weekend… I was planning on taking the 7:55 pm bus out of Navalmoral to Madrid, Thursday night. However, when I got to the station, I realized that the ticket office was closed. I dashed across the way to the bus station and was able to get on the last bus to Madrid that night at 7:40pm. Good thing I get places early.
The bus ride was lovely. I tried to sleep a little and listen to my iPod. When I got bored with that, I watched the movie that the bus was playing. It was dubbed in Spanish and starred Tim Curry and was absolutely ridiculous. I was so confused the whole time, and think I still would have been if it had been in English. I highly recommend YouTubeing the movie, “Bailey’s Billion$.”
When I got into the city, my friend Juan David (from Navalmoral but lives in Madrid) met me at the station. We dropped my stuff off at his apartment, and then went out to dinner. We ate at Foster’s American Restaurant (I had one next to where I lived in Valencia, but never ate there). It was actually really good, and really filling. It was “Buy 1, Get 1 Free” night, so we each got an appetizer and an entrée. I had some chicken fingers and tacos…just like home. After dinner, we met up with some of his friends at a bar and hung out. It was a great mix of Erasmus (study abroad in Europe) students: Dutch, French, German…very international. We spent the night dancing at a club and around 4:00am, Juan David and I made the long walk (metros stop running around 2:00am) to his apartment to pick up my bag, then he drove me to the airport. He dropped me off at Terminal 1, but once he left and I was inside, I realized I had to be in Terminal 4. I flagged down a taxi and had to pay the stupid airport fee on top of the regular fare to drive just a few seconds away. Once in Terminal 4, I went through security and by the time I was at my gate, the 5:45am flight was getting ready to board.
Despite a bit of turbulence, the flight was fine, though I didn’t get any sleep. When I landed in Venice, I had about an hour to kill until the flight that my friends were on from Sevilla landed. I ordered my first (of many) Italian cappuccino in the café and people-watched until the other girls’ plane came in. Once they were there, the five of us hopped on the airport bus over to the main island, tired, but excited to be there.
We wandered around for a while, figuring we would stumble across our hostel eventually, stopping for some more cappuccinos, then eventually asking (in broken Italospanglish) how to find the hostel. Once at the hostel, the real fun began. At one point in the past, the building the hostel was in used to be some sort of house of royalty. However, hundreds of years later, things have definitely changed. A skinny, wild-haired British guy named Sam greeted us. Sam told us that there was a mandatory lock-out every day from 11-2 so that they could clean the place, and that no one could be in the hostel at that time. What they spent the three hours cleaning, we never figured out. So we dropped off our stuff, tried to make ourselves look a little human (almost 36 hours with only about a half an hour of sleep), and headed out to explore the city.
When we had researched what the best things to do in Venice were, the thing we kept finding online was “Get lost in the streets.” We took this advice to heart and did just that for all 3 days we were there. We spent Friday afternoon walking wherever we felt was right. We found the cutest, most delicious café ever (took a picture of the street name so we could try to find it again later), ate wonderful pizza at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, and took some beautiful pictures of all of the bridges and canals. It was so surreal that I was actually in Venice. At one point I said to the girls, “I feel like I’m in Busch Gardens.” Such an American/Virginian thing to say, but it was true.
So around 4.00, we headed back to the hostel, as Sam said everything would be ready by 2.00, we thought we would be able to check-in and take a much needed siesta. Wrong. We did check in, paying an absurd amount of money (5 Euros each if we wanted sheets and towels, 5 Euros a night in Italian tourist tax, plus the steep nightly charge) for a hostel that was looking more disgusting by the second. One girl even saw a rat on the first floor at one point. Then, after paying, Sam said that the room “wasn’t quite ready yet” and that we could hang out on the common room couches for “10 minutes” while he finished fixing it up. “10 minutes” turned into about an hour waiting. We did manage to make friends with a British boy who was also sitting on the couches and looked to be about 12 years old. He told us he was 16 (yeah, right), his name was Zak and he had “been done with school a long time ago.” This kid had spent the last month on the Camino de Santiago, before that spent time in Venice (training at the hostel to work there eventually), and had traveled a lot more. Was he a run away? Did his parents kick him out? Did he even have parents? So many questions. Now, Zak was starting to actually work at the hostel as a paid employee. Good thing, because he had showed up to Venice with only 4.80 Euros in his pocket…
When we finally were able to go into our room, we tried to nap for a bit, but only really managed to lay there. Still having not slept, we all took turns going upstairs to the one shower/bathroom. The shower was an experience in itself. The water pressure was non-existent (about 8 drops a minute) and it was the moldiest shower I have ever seen (on the walls, the shower curtain…).
That night we wanted to go out to dinner, but it took a long time to figure out where we wanted to go (many places were full, had creepy-looking people outside…). Finally we decided on one that looked good, had a lot of people in it, and seemed like it might have space for us. But, when I asked for a table for five, the waiter said that we would have to wait about 20 minutes. We all looked at each other, hungry and not wanting to wait, and the waiter said “one second.” He walked up to a table of two (man and woman) and asked them to move tables so he could push two together for us. They already had their drinks and had ordered their food and he made them move! I guess the waiter really wanted the American girls to stay…
So we sat down at our table, mumbling an embarrassed “grazie” to the couple who switched tables and ordered our bottle of wine and food. The food was pretty good (I had spaghetti carbonara) and once we were done, the waiter brought over a round of brandy shots for us. In many parts of Spain (and apparently Italy), it’s normal to get a free shot (to sip on) after dinner as a “palate cleanser.” So we reluctantly, but graciously sipped on our brandy. Once we were done, we asked for “il conto per favore” (the bill). But, instead of bringing over the bill, the waiter brought over ANOTHER round of brandy shots for us…now this was not normal. Again, we graciously sipped the shots, our throats burning from the alcohol. Finally, after getting through that, we asked for “il conto per favore” again. And what happened? ANOTHER round! Ugggh. So once again, we took our time and finished the brandy, telling the waiter that we could drink no more. Finally, he brought us the bill.
That night we headed over to the students' area of Venice and went to a few bars. A very exciting thing, I found a place with a mojito that is a close second to Laboratorio’s mojitos in Valencia. We hung out around there for the evening and at the end of the night, we could definitely say we went out full force in Venice.
So last week I didn’t stop working. After the most fun weekend spent in Navalmoral so far (a friend’s birthday), I was tutoring and teaching all week. On Thursday, I went into the elementary school across the street from my apartment and gave four, 1-hour long presentations on Halloween to the kiddies. Four of the exact same presentations. I was exhausted after that, but still had to tutor, then head to Madrid so I could go to Venice very early Friday morning!
So begins the weekend… I was planning on taking the 7:55 pm bus out of Navalmoral to Madrid, Thursday night. However, when I got to the station, I realized that the ticket office was closed. I dashed across the way to the bus station and was able to get on the last bus to Madrid that night at 7:40pm. Good thing I get places early.
The bus ride was lovely. I tried to sleep a little and listen to my iPod. When I got bored with that, I watched the movie that the bus was playing. It was dubbed in Spanish and starred Tim Curry and was absolutely ridiculous. I was so confused the whole time, and think I still would have been if it had been in English. I highly recommend YouTubeing the movie, “Bailey’s Billion$.”
When I got into the city, my friend Juan David (from Navalmoral but lives in Madrid) met me at the station. We dropped my stuff off at his apartment, and then went out to dinner. We ate at Foster’s American Restaurant (I had one next to where I lived in Valencia, but never ate there). It was actually really good, and really filling. It was “Buy 1, Get 1 Free” night, so we each got an appetizer and an entrée. I had some chicken fingers and tacos…just like home. After dinner, we met up with some of his friends at a bar and hung out. It was a great mix of Erasmus (study abroad in Europe) students: Dutch, French, German…very international. We spent the night dancing at a club and around 4:00am, Juan David and I made the long walk (metros stop running around 2:00am) to his apartment to pick up my bag, then he drove me to the airport. He dropped me off at Terminal 1, but once he left and I was inside, I realized I had to be in Terminal 4. I flagged down a taxi and had to pay the stupid airport fee on top of the regular fare to drive just a few seconds away. Once in Terminal 4, I went through security and by the time I was at my gate, the 5:45am flight was getting ready to board.
Despite a bit of turbulence, the flight was fine, though I didn’t get any sleep. When I landed in Venice, I had about an hour to kill until the flight that my friends were on from Sevilla landed. I ordered my first (of many) Italian cappuccino in the café and people-watched until the other girls’ plane came in. Once they were there, the five of us hopped on the airport bus over to the main island, tired, but excited to be there.
We wandered around for a while, figuring we would stumble across our hostel eventually, stopping for some more cappuccinos, then eventually asking (in broken Italospanglish) how to find the hostel. Once at the hostel, the real fun began. At one point in the past, the building the hostel was in used to be some sort of house of royalty. However, hundreds of years later, things have definitely changed. A skinny, wild-haired British guy named Sam greeted us. Sam told us that there was a mandatory lock-out every day from 11-2 so that they could clean the place, and that no one could be in the hostel at that time. What they spent the three hours cleaning, we never figured out. So we dropped off our stuff, tried to make ourselves look a little human (almost 36 hours with only about a half an hour of sleep), and headed out to explore the city.
When we had researched what the best things to do in Venice were, the thing we kept finding online was “Get lost in the streets.” We took this advice to heart and did just that for all 3 days we were there. We spent Friday afternoon walking wherever we felt was right. We found the cutest, most delicious café ever (took a picture of the street name so we could try to find it again later), ate wonderful pizza at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, and took some beautiful pictures of all of the bridges and canals. It was so surreal that I was actually in Venice. At one point I said to the girls, “I feel like I’m in Busch Gardens.” Such an American/Virginian thing to say, but it was true.
So around 4.00, we headed back to the hostel, as Sam said everything would be ready by 2.00, we thought we would be able to check-in and take a much needed siesta. Wrong. We did check in, paying an absurd amount of money (5 Euros each if we wanted sheets and towels, 5 Euros a night in Italian tourist tax, plus the steep nightly charge) for a hostel that was looking more disgusting by the second. One girl even saw a rat on the first floor at one point. Then, after paying, Sam said that the room “wasn’t quite ready yet” and that we could hang out on the common room couches for “10 minutes” while he finished fixing it up. “10 minutes” turned into about an hour waiting. We did manage to make friends with a British boy who was also sitting on the couches and looked to be about 12 years old. He told us he was 16 (yeah, right), his name was Zak and he had “been done with school a long time ago.” This kid had spent the last month on the Camino de Santiago, before that spent time in Venice (training at the hostel to work there eventually), and had traveled a lot more. Was he a run away? Did his parents kick him out? Did he even have parents? So many questions. Now, Zak was starting to actually work at the hostel as a paid employee. Good thing, because he had showed up to Venice with only 4.80 Euros in his pocket…
When we finally were able to go into our room, we tried to nap for a bit, but only really managed to lay there. Still having not slept, we all took turns going upstairs to the one shower/bathroom. The shower was an experience in itself. The water pressure was non-existent (about 8 drops a minute) and it was the moldiest shower I have ever seen (on the walls, the shower curtain…).
That night we wanted to go out to dinner, but it took a long time to figure out where we wanted to go (many places were full, had creepy-looking people outside…). Finally we decided on one that looked good, had a lot of people in it, and seemed like it might have space for us. But, when I asked for a table for five, the waiter said that we would have to wait about 20 minutes. We all looked at each other, hungry and not wanting to wait, and the waiter said “one second.” He walked up to a table of two (man and woman) and asked them to move tables so he could push two together for us. They already had their drinks and had ordered their food and he made them move! I guess the waiter really wanted the American girls to stay…
So we sat down at our table, mumbling an embarrassed “grazie” to the couple who switched tables and ordered our bottle of wine and food. The food was pretty good (I had spaghetti carbonara) and once we were done, the waiter brought over a round of brandy shots for us. In many parts of Spain (and apparently Italy), it’s normal to get a free shot (to sip on) after dinner as a “palate cleanser.” So we reluctantly, but graciously sipped on our brandy. Once we were done, we asked for “il conto per favore” (the bill). But, instead of bringing over the bill, the waiter brought over ANOTHER round of brandy shots for us…now this was not normal. Again, we graciously sipped the shots, our throats burning from the alcohol. Finally, after getting through that, we asked for “il conto per favore” again. And what happened? ANOTHER round! Ugggh. So once again, we took our time and finished the brandy, telling the waiter that we could drink no more. Finally, he brought us the bill.
That night we headed over to the students' area of Venice and went to a few bars. A very exciting thing, I found a place with a mojito that is a close second to Laboratorio’s mojitos in Valencia. We hung out around there for the evening and at the end of the night, we could definitely say we went out full force in Venice.
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